Apparently, he’d pissed Bear off enough to have his brains blown out. Which made one less depraved psycho in the world, and I called that a win.
But seriously, did he have to use ammunition that made such a fucking mess?
“Already called Mrs. Acker,” Doc informed me. “Ernest called in sick again, but she has an interview in ten minutes, so maybe we’ll get lucky, and they can start right away. Patch’s friend who owns the funeral home will dispose of this trash once it’s been burned to ashes. So, as long as elite cleaners do their job first, the front line can wipe the rest down.”
Doc had been given his nickname because he was the MC’s “fixer”—not to be confused with the MC’s real medical professional, Patch (because he patched us up), who was also an enforcer. When he referred to my elite cleaners, he was talking about my employees who worked for the…darker side of the business. I’d been cleaning up the MC’s shit since I was a prospect. Eventually, I’d needed more help, and it seemed like the logical choice, so I started a company. Of course, I couldn’t exactly advertise to the world that we specialized in scrubbing crime scenes—although our reputation was well known in the right circles—so part of the business was a typical, run-of-the-mill industrial cleaning and janitorial service.
“Whoever takes the shift tonight will be here in a couple of hours. I’ll get a crew here to do the dirty work and take care of the body,” I told them as I pulled out my phone to text my assistant, Carrie, to call in the job. Doc took off to do the necessary paperwork and planting of evidence that kept the Silver Saints above suspicion for such things as executing scum.
Cash and our newest patch, Grey–formally known as Benji–were out for a ride, so they stopped by to offer their help. “By the way,” Cash said as he unfolded a body bag. “Girl who called us about this shit is the sheriff’s daughter. She overheard some students talking about it and decided this guy needed our brand of justice.”
Bear raised an eyebrow. “Ballsy. But how the fuck does she know what kind of justice we mete out? Or how to get in touch with us at all?”
“I’m guessing she’s overheard things she shouldn’t from the sheriff and snooped for a way to get in touch with us,” I mused as I put on a pair of latex gloves and rubber coverings for my shoes. “Someone should tell her to forget the Silver Saints, or we could end up on the sheriff’s shit list, and he’s been a good ally.”
“Agreed,” Bear grunted. “Don’t need a little girl interfering because she thinks she knows the MC life and wants to play on the other side of the tracks.”
Cash nodded as we walked over to the body and tossed Bear a grin. “You’re in charge of enemies and intel, Officer. Guess that means you get to have a talk with the kid.”
Bear rolled his eyes and began dismantling his weapon so we could clean it. “Fine. How hard can it be to scold a little girl and tell her to go back to her dolls instead of sticking her nose into things she shouldn’t?”
“Dude,” Grey interjected with a chuckle. “She’s a senior in high school, not an eight-year-old.”
Bear shrugged. “Same difference.”
Frankie and Andy showed up with their equipment just as Cash and I lifted the body onto the open bag, then we maneuvered him into it and zipped it up. I checked my watch and warned them, “The overnight will be on shift in an hour. Take care of as much as you can and strip up the carpet. We’ll come back tomorrow to treat the concrete.” They nodded and began setting out their tools.
My phone pinged with a text, and the screen flashed with a message from Mrs. Acker.
Hired someone. She’s going to start tonight. She’s young but determined. I like her, so don’t scare her off if you run into her.
When have I ever done that? I typed back with a smirk. Mrs. Ackman had been in charge of my human resources department since six months after I bought the company. Without any effort, she’d made my current manager look like an incompetent fool, so I fired him and promoted her. She’d never steered me wrong with her instincts, and the people she hired had been good workers. It wasn't my fault some of them were pansies who ran scared with one look at me.
It wasn’t because I was ugly or disfigured or anything. I was just a scary-looking motherfucker with big muscles, hard eyes, and an MC cut. I didn’t have a place for pussies like that anyway.
Her sister’s boyfriend could use a little of your charm, though.